David Dalglish - Blood Of Gods

Over the seven days she had spent spying on the castle, Laurel Lawrence hadn’t seen a single one of them reemerge.

She was there again, sitting in a rickety chair by the side of the cobbled road, a seller’s cart filled with inexpensive baubles in front of her. The cart had been pieced together out of discarded lumber from crumbling houses; the trinkets had been collected from the belongings of those hiding out in the caverns beneath the Black Bend. Laurel was dressed in her Specter’s garb, a decrepit old woman with tangled hair and filthy skin. She made certain to look each passerby in the eye and call out in her false old crone voice. “Half a copper for a top! A quarter copper for a set of rings! One gold for the elixir of love!”

She had no such elixir, only a capped porcelain vial filled with cheap brandy, but she felt compelled to shout it anyway. With most of the street merchants offering at least one expensive, unbelievable item, it would have been suspicious if she didn’t. She also thought it a small rebellion to sell a love elixir in a city where there were so few men.

The weary citizens passed her by as always, bundled against the cold. Only one woman stopped, a child hanging off each arm. There were heavy purple bags beneath her eyes and her skin was pale. One of the children was sleeping, his rosebud lips pressed against the woman’s neck; the other, a small girl no more than three, sat in the crook of her mother’s right arm, draped in an outrageously large fur blanket. Neither looked in Laurel’s direction.

“Ooh,” the little girl said, pointing at something on the table. Her fingers were sickly and white.

“Yes, Soleh,” said the mother, her voice sleepy. “Which one are you looking at?”

The little girl pointed more exuberantly. “The dolly. It’s pretty.”

“It is, Soleh. Very pretty.”

Laurel was taken aback by the sound of the girl’s name. While it was a relatively common practice for those in and around Veldaren to name their children after the First Families-she had even met a handful of people named Thessaly, the most forgettable of Clovis Crestwell’s children-she had not heard anyone utter the name of the former minister in quite some time. She took a step backward, gazing intently at the mother, but the woman showed no interest in meeting her gaze.

“I want, Mommy,” little Soleh said.

The mother finally lifted her eyes, and Laurel could see a hint of recognition on her face.

“How much for the doll?” she asked.

“Um. . it’s. .,” began Laurel, but she quickly snapped her mouth shut. She’d forgotten her old crone voice. She cleared her throat and said, “two coppers” in a hoarse croak.

The woman squinted at her, cocked her head slightly, and then looked at her daughter. “I’m sorry, Soleh. We only have a half copper left.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid , Laurel chastised herself inwardly.

Little Soleh’s bottom lip jutted out, and her eyes grew watery. “But I want it .”

“We can’t, dear.” Her eyes began darting left and right, her words in a rush. “Please, darling, don’t make a scene.”

“I want the dolly!”

The child’s display had caught the attention of the Sisters lingering nearby. The mother glanced up at them, fear washing over her face. “We can’t, Soleh. I’m sorry.”

The mother started to walk away. The child continued crying.

Laurel snatched up the doll and circled around the cart, this time making sure to limp the way the Specter always did. “Wait,” she called out, and the mother turned. The Sisters were approaching them now, and the mother’s eyes flicked in their direction.

“Here,” said Laurel, placing the doll into little Soleh’s reaching, needy hands. “No payment necessary-seeing the smile on your daughter’s face is enough.” She rustled Soleh’s hair while the girl gathered the doll to her chest and hugged it.

“Th-thank you,” said the mother.

One of the Sisters had reached them, a short girl with arresting blue eyes. Laurel backed away. The Sister placed her hand on the mother’s shoulder and stared intently at her.

“I’m. . I’m sorry for the disturbance,” the mother said. “I was just out for some bread.”

The Sister nodded to her, then turned to face her approaching brethren. She held up her hand. The other Sisters inclined their heads and turned away, heading back to their posts. The mother breathed out a shaky sigh. The short Sister reached up and playfully flicked little Soleh under the chin before gesturing for the mother to be on her way.

“Thank you, thank you,” the mother repeated as she hustled down the road.

The Sister swiveled around and looked at Laurel. Those soulful blue eyes flicked to her cart, and Laurel immediately turned around and limped back toward it. The Sister fell in beside her.

“Thanks,” Laurel whispered out of the side of her mouth.

Lyana, her face obscured by her wrappings, said nothing.

When they arrived at the cart, Lyana performed the ruse of examining all of the baubles resting on the cart’s flat surface. She cast a quick look behind her before asking about what had happened in her hushed, childlike voice. She held up a small tome that was for sale, its leather cover layered with stains and dust.

Laurel leaned forward as if looking at the tome along with her. “Just a scared woman.”

“Why did she panic?”

“Because I forgot to disguise my voice. If she were caught and brought before the judges, we both know what would happen.”

The girl nodded, and Laurel could not suppress her shudder. It was eerie to see Lyana back in her wrappings. Sometimes she found herself wondering if her young companion would fall back into the thrall of her former order.

“How did you forget to alter your voice?” Lyana asked. “You’re always so careful.”

Laurel thought about telling her, but decided to lie. “I’m just tired. I’ll concentrate harder next time. We still have a few hours before it’s time.”

“Good.”

Lyana’s eyes glazed over, and she pivoted on the balls of her feet, carelessly tossing the tome back onto the cart before walking away. Again, Laurel felt unease. She knew it was an act, but still. . when Lyana donned her wrappings, she became a different woman altogether.

The hours dragged by. Few customers approached her cart, their meager coin needed to pay the fish, meat, bread, vegetable, and medicinal sellers instead. That left Laurel with ample time to lose herself in thought. It hadn’t been an easy decision to start coming here, lingering just outside the castle’s portcullis in full view of the frozen corpses that still swayed on the wall. Laurel often felt like a sheep wandering into the lion’s den, causing her to wonder if this was worth the risk of exposure.

Of course it’s worth it. What else can we do?

The situation for those who railed against Veldaren’s new leadership had grown worse by the day. The fountain was now watched, and many who had helped those fleeing Karak’s law, including Ursula and Tristessa, the mother and daughter from the cobbler’s, had been executed before that very fountain, their heads lopped from their bodies while a broken populace looked on. No more communications reached the rebellion, no more stray Sisters, bandits, or other frightened souls entered their midst. The Sisters of the Cloth pressed closer and closer to the Black Bend, putting fear in the hearts of the masses. They began pulling the poor and downtrodden from their homes, hauling them away for judgment. The Judges also spread out their area of search during their nighttime hunts. They were simply getting much too close. Ten days ago the male lion had devoured one of the families living in a ramshackle building on the outskirts of the Bend itself. Those who resided aboveground in the Bend were frightened beyond belief, and though most topsiders didn’t know there was a settlement growing daily beneath their feet, Laurel knew it was only a matter of time before the caverns were discovered.